


Second

by Yods



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Fluff (later chapters), M/M, Porn (later chapters), Post-AUSeason/Series 02, Scarring (later chapters), Slow Burn, fixit, inaccurate medical procedures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yods/pseuds/Yods
Summary: "Forgiving is not forgetting; it’s actually remembering - remembering and not using your right to hit back. It’s a second chance for a new beginning. And the remembering part is particularly important. Especially if you don’t want to repeat what happened."Foggy hasn't seen Matt for months, and he likes it that way.  Life is good.  The firm is good.  He's happy.But curveballs come all the same.





	1. drowning

**Author's Note:**

> I paced myself watching season 2, and couldn’t help getting exposed to some spoilers along the way. So way before the season ended I already knew: 1)Nelson and Murdock doesn’t make it because of Matt’s flakiness 2)Elektra dies 3)I’d seen a gifset of [this](https://nl.pinterest.com/pin/275704808417606770/) scene and somehow came to the conclusion that this was an interview with Foggy and Karen for someone to take Matt’s place in the firm (since clearly _he_ left. He doesn't get to be flaky and then kick Foggy out. That would be rediculous.) 4)I’d read [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6385903) amazing and heartbreaking story and basically noped right out of there.  
>  Also in my version Matt didn’t get around to telling Karen he’s Daredevil.  
> So this story popped up in my head as a fix-it for all of that. At least that’s how it started. Got a pretty bad case of drift. And now I’m posting the first chapter even though I’m nowhere near ready to start posting…

It started with a phone call. Of course it did. He always knew he’d get a call like this. For the last few months his life had been uneventful. Quiet. Maybe a bit too quiet, but there was no reason to admit that to anyone. Things were going well. The firm was still struggling, they were still getting paid in pie more often than not, but they were getting by, and _everyone pulled their weight._ No dark secrets and resentments and lies.

So maybe Christopher wasn’t the most appealing guy, but he didn’t need to be appealing. He needed to be a lawyer who actually showed up and did his job. 

And no, he wasn’t bitter. 

It wasn’t like he was lonely. He was seeing a lot more of Marci lately. Non-euphemistically seeing a lot more of. She was actually fun to be around since she’d left L & Z. Calling her soulless when she had been just as miserable as he was when he worked there was a dick move. As she reminded him. Often. She was fun, he never said she was _nice_.

Sometimes Karen joined him at Marci’s. Which felt strange. They didn’t exactly get along. But then, they didn’t exactly get along either. It was a truce, of sorts. 

What wasn’t a truce was Marci’s opinion on non-Ivy League, non-cum laude Christopher Roth. Who knew she was such a snob?

He did. He really did. Back at Columbia it had taken her a while to believe a hardware store owner’s son could be a good lawyer as well. Sure showed her, though.

 

They were at Marci’s – a cheap apartment in a good neighbourhood. Address over comfort. Typical Marci, not that he’d ever say that to her out loud. He liked his entrails where they were at, thank you very much. 

The atmosphere was a smeared warm haze of alcohol, an open challenge to the wind crashing sheets of rain against the windows. Foggy sagged happily in his chair and toyed with his half-empty glass of too-expensive whisky as Karen and Marci squabbled.

Karen was listlessly defending Christopher. She didn’t really get along with him herself. “He is very earnest. And he means well.”

“He does.” Foggy took over from her. “He sincerely tries to do the right thing. Kind of reminds me of Matt, in that way.”

Marci and Karen’s joint eye-rolls remind him that this was the wrong thing to say. Maybe he should have stopped a couple of drinks ago.

“Like Matt.” Marci said in bright, cruel amusement. “You know, without the charm or good looks.”

“Or lies and secrets and unreliability.” Karen added, viciously. “Come on Foggy, It’s hardly fair to Christopher to be comparing him to Matt all the time.”

Foggy sighed and half choked as he finished his glass.

 

After that he and Karen had were very conscious in including Christopher – Not Chris, not Christoph, certainly not _Buddy_ , sorry Christopher – whenever they hung out. Which was often.

So things were good. Absolutely.

 

So his office phone – they had actual office phones now – started ringing. Karen called over to him: “It’s someone from Metro General. She wouldn’t tell me what it was about.”

He glared at the phone for a moment. He’d just had the opening paragraph of his statement on the Ramirez case perfectly lined up in his head and now he’d lost it.

He swallowed a couple of times before he answered. The air in the office was dry and dusty from having the heating on too high for too long. It’s been a miserable winter. “Franklin Nelson here.” He saw Karen pull a face at him from the corner of his eye.

The voice on the line was cool and dispassionate. “Mr Nelson. Janet Hopkins. You’re listed as a Mr Murdock’s emergency contact?”

That couldn’t be good. Matt was in some kind of trouble. Foggy rubbed his arm against the sudden attack of goose bumps. He didn’t want to get pulled into this drama again. He’d just started to feel like everything was OK. Really. And now it turned out that what he thought was solid ground had just been quicksand all along.

His heart beat too quickly. “That was a while ago. Could you remove me from the file?”

There was a brief silence across the line. He could hear bustle and announcement in the background. “It’s not really up to me. I’m just calling to inform you that Mr Murdock is at Metro General and--”

“Thank you but that wasn’t necessary. _Mr Murdock’s_ issues are his own problem. I’m done with--” Karen looked up from her desk and frowned at the mention of Matt’s name. 

“--and you should come to the hospital now if you want to say goodbye.” She finished coldly. “The doctors are saying he probably won’t make it. That was all.” She hung up.

“what?” He was stuck with the phone held to his ear, listening to the dial tone. _What?_ That wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever. Matt was supposed to be there, so he could be pissed and bitter at him.

Karen must see something in his face. She stands up. “Foggy, what’s going on?”

“I… uhm… I’m…” He fumbled for his coat.

She crossed her arms. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to see Matt. He’s gone. Good riddance.”

Foggy flinched. “Phrasing,” he said to himself, weakly. He’d finally gathered what he needed – coat, scarf, wallet, keys, phone – and he stood uncertainly in his office.  
“I’m…” He couldn’t meet Karen’s expression. He looked at the floor instead. “I’m going over there. They say he might… he might not make it.”

He finally managed to look up at Karen. She dropped her crossed arms, eyes wide. Her eyes were very blue, sometimes. Cornflower blue, he thought distantly. “I’ll call you from the hospital.”

^  
< >

The cab ride over the hospital was over in an instant. It had smelt vaguely of cigarette smoke and after-shave and sweat and something harsh and acrid, and Matt could probably pick out another twenty things but he’d never thought to ask him anything like that.

When Matt dropped out of the firm and their friendship and his life it was something of a relief. Better that than the constant slap in the face that Matt didn’t care, that he couldn’t be relied on, that he should be there but couldn’t be bothered. That everything else had a higher priority.

At least it was clear. A surgical cut instead of the slow tear that had started happening almost without him noticing. This heals better, or so they say.

And Matt Murdock disappeared completely. There were still occasional mentions of Daredevil in the press, but he avoided that when he could. He had to create some distance.

Because he knew this was going to come. That Matt was going to get shot or stabbed by a ninja or some-or-the-other horrible thing. He didn’t really want to know which it was. Daredevil was some creature of myth and tabloids, and Matt Murdock didn’t exist anymore. Or never did in the first place. That was easier. There was no reason to think about the real person bleeding underneath the mask.

Foggy trudged shivering through the slush from the cab to the hospital entrance and wondered whether he believed any of that.

^  
< >

Foggy got Matt’s room number from some disinterested receptionist. She first misheard Matt for Pat and his heart stopped when she told him there was no longer such a person at the hospital.

He followed the coloured signage to the ICU, reflexively irritated by the fact that a blind person would be completely lost in there. Foggy stopped outside the room. He didn’t have to go in. Matt didn’t ask him to come. And Matt didn’t come see him when _he_ was in hospital. How did they even know to call him? Claire didn’t work here anymore.

A nurse bustled past him pushing a cart. He took a step forward to get out of the way. And then he was in front of the door. Foggy briefly wished that crossing himself would have any effect, and then he went in.

For a moment he thought he must have the wrong room. It had been months, almost a year, since he’d seen Matt. The clearest mental image he had of him now was of the photo of the two of them at graduation that his mom refused to take down. Both of them looking triumphant, Matt’s arm slung across his shoulders. In the picture Foggy wasn’t looking at the camera but up at Matt with a goofy love-struck grin that Candace kept on teasing him about. 

He wasn’t love-struck, his face just looked like that.

Matt didn’t look like the kid in that picture anymore. He was gaunt and haggard, his hair greasy and too long and an unkempt beard that could by no stretch of the imagination be called stubble anymore.

Foggy took a couple of steps closer. It wasn’t like Matt could tell he was here. He wasn’t going to tell him to go away. 

He’d lost weight, sunken cheeks and long-fingered hands that always looked elegant were now just emaciated. Foggy barely even noticed the bruises. Of course there were bruises.

Foggy dumped his coat on a free chair and sat down. He didn’t know what to do. There were various machines next to Matt, numbers and colours displayed and occasionally beeping. He couldn’t figure out what they meant. Now that he was closer he could hear his breathing. It sounded terrible. Every breath an agonised rasping rattle. If he was conscious he’d probably be coughing up phlegm. As it was he was choking. It was painful to listen to. 

Foggy sagged into the chair. He didn’t really want to look at Matt like this. Outside the room through the blinds he could see the usual hospital bustle. Harried nurses and pale worried faces. In here the only sound was the occasional beep from the machines and Matt’s ragged breathing.

There was a sharp pain in his chest. Maybe he was having a heart attack? A hospital was a good place for it. He tried to slow his breath. It didn’t help. Should he hold Matt’s hand? That’s what people did when someone was in hospital. He looked dirty. Fingernails stained and torn. There was a clip of some kind on his fingertip, leading to one of the machines. Foggy leant back and looked away. Matt always fidgeted. His hands were never still. Not like this.

The door opened and sharp footsteps came inside. He looked up in surprise. It was Karen. She froze in the doorway, just as he had. He couldn’t read her expression.

“Hey.”

Karen slowly shifted her stare from Matt to him. Shock, that’s what the look on her face was. “Hey.”

She stood there looking at him for a while. He wondered if he looked as lost as she did. Then she walked over and picked up his coat from the chair. Folded it neatly over the backrest and sat down next to him.

They just sat there in silence. 

After a while a nurse came in. She fussed at Matt and studied his chart and the machines, ignoring them. Foggy cleared his throat. Her back tensed but she continued to ignore them.

“What’s wrong with him?”

The nurse turned around and glared at them. He felt judged. 

“Pneumonia.”

She turned back around. He recognised the disapproving tone. It was the nurse he’d spoken to on the phone earlier. Janice? Janet? A remarkably pleasant name for such a dour person.

Karen stood up. There was steel in her voice. “People don't die of pneumonia.”

The nurse turned around again, clearly irritated by the interruption. “Otherwise healthy people who take care of themselves don’t. But it’s quite common among the homeless.”

 _What?_

Karen stood, stunned. The nurse spun back, gave Matt one last look, and left the room.

That wasn’t possible. There was no way overly fussy Matt would let himself become homeless. And even if he did, Matt had to know that even after everything he would take him in if he asked. He would bitch and moan about it, but he would. 

_You know Matt would never ask for help._ He shoved the thought away.

He was very aware of Karen staring at him. He could tell she wanted to say something. He looked at Matt, instead.

At least the state of him made sense, now. And yes, someone with no family who was unwilling to admit to needing help could end up homeless if he lost his job. But there was no reason for Matt to be unemployed. He was a good lawyer, an excellent lawyer when he could be bothered. And it’s not like they kicked him out, exactly. He chose to leave. But the hysterical thought that threatened to bubble to the surface was: ‘ _Oh shit, we killed him._ ’ Foggy dropped his face into his hands.

^  
< >

Foggy spent the rest of the night just sitting there in that hospital room. He and Karen didn’t talk. Every now and again someone would come and check up on Matt, but nothing changed. The machines beeped. The air gurgled in Matt’s chest.

Karen pulled his coat over her lap like a blanket, curling her legs underneath herself. Someone down the corridor started up a floor cleaning machine.

Eventually he switched on the TV, volume on low as though Matt was just sleeping and he didn’t want to wake him. The sound of late-night infomercials washed gently through the room. Cheese grater, shoe cleaner, car heater, no-electricity vacuum cleaner.

Then the late night news started, which was mildly more interesting. Apparently an EMP hit Avengers tower, and emergency services ended up having to use to jaws of life to get Stark out of a completely de-powered Ironman suit while he cursed at everyone. Foggy managed half a grin. He turned to Karen, but she had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Apart from the TV it was quiet. No cleaning machine. 

No haggard breathing.

Everything stilled. The room was suddenly freezing and Foggy couldn’t hear the TV anymore. Matt gave an exhausted, strangled cough and his breathing started up again.

So did Foggy’s. His chest heaved and he tried to cry softly so he wouldn’t wake Karen. 

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. The death of Daredevil. How pathetic. 

A nurse opened the door very gently, apparently trying not to disturb them, and went to check on Matt. Foggy wondered whether the machines had sent some kind of alarm. What good were they if they didn’t?

The nurse looked up at him for a moment. He tried to smile at her but the muscles felt strained and it didn’t quite take.

“Can’t you do something? It sounds like he’s drowning.”

She smoothed down the blanket absent-mindedly and pursed her lips for a moment. “He _is_ drowning. That’s what pneumonia does once it gets this far.” 

Karen stirred next to him. She must have woken up when the nurse came in. 

She seems to take pity on them. “There’s not much more we can do at this point, apart from try to make him more comfortable. Whether he survives or not is up to him. And it’s not looking good.”

That wasn’t the faux-comforting answer he was expecting. Karen sniffed. She was still leaning onto his shoulder, the only warmth in the room.

The nurse left and Foggy switched off the TV. He desperately needed the distraction, some distraction. Anything, really, to avoid the tight certainty around them. 

But Matt had stopped breathing and he didn’t even notice at first. He couldn’t afford for that to happen again. Karen curled up in her chair, pulling her knees up. She folded her arms around herself and rested her head on her knee, tucking her face away from him into the crook of her elbow. It made her look small. 

Foggy leant back, his neck aching. He tried to keep his focus on the wet grinding rasp of Matt’s breathing. He was tempted to reach out and put his hand on his chest, to feel for the rise-and-fall, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch him. Karen’s quiet inhalation and occasional sniffle next to him was a welcome contrast.

He found himself wondering where Matt had been staying. The weather was miserable at the moment. There had been snow and the temperature hovered around freezing last week. It had turned to sleet during the last couple of days. You couldn’t actually survive on the streets in this weather. Not even Matt, who could survive anything on pure bloody-minded stubbornness. And the odds of him going to a shelter were slim-to-none. That would be an admission of needing help on a grand scale. Was he crashing with someone? Unlikely. Matt might know people he didn’t know about – who knew what his life as Daredevil involved – but it was unlikely that he would let someone see him unravel like this. 

Or maybe he would? What would he know? Because as it turns out nothing he though he knew about Matt, nothing he would have expected of him, was even remotely accurate. He would never have thought Matt - fussy, sweet, ethical, nerdy Matt - would choose violence over the law, over the firm, over their _friendship_. Never thought that Matt would be the one to let him down.

Foggy sighed and looked over at the machines. Some of the numbers were different. Was that good or bad? Or maybe they hadn’t changed. He didn’t really have them memorised. He should have been paying better attention.

Matt didn’t seem any different. It didn’t seem possible that someone could look that exhausted while unconscious. Every breath was a battle. But then, Matt was good at fighting. He breathed out, a hideous rattle, and then his breath hitched. His chest worked but he didn’t breath in.

“Matt?”

Karen sat up behind him. He was vaguely aware that the machines were beeping. _No, no, no._ He wasn’t ready for this. He was never going to be ready for this.

“Matt!” Foggy shoved him, anger overtaking everything else, even now. He felt his ribcage move under his hands. It forced a choked grunt out of Matt. A disgusting, wet, choked grunt. 

And then he breathed in.

The rasping breath continued just as it had before. He could hear Karen crying behind him. A nursed rushed in.

Foggy dropped his head into his hands. It was going to be a very long night.


	2. cold

Foggy wasn’t sure how he’d fallen asleep. His neck ached and his ass hurt and he was miserable. The room was stifling. It had become a mausoleum to Matt’s terrible, haggard breathing. But he _was_ still breathing. And Foggy didn’t dare leave. 

He stood up and stretched out and was rewarded with a truly unfortunate crunching noise from his spine. It was five steps from where he had been sitting to the wall. Five steps back. There was nowhere else to go.

Karen rested her chin on her arms, watching him pace blearily. There were sleep-creases on her face and her hair had gone stringy. If Karen looked bad he probably looked terrible. Foggy ran both hands over his face, trying to wake up. Trying to scrub away the dull suspicion that Matt’s horrible breathing was going to stop and he’d be _relieved_. 

She stood from her chair. His coat fell to the floor and she half-caught it before giving up. “I’m going to get coffee. You want some?”

Foggy nodded. “Thanks.”

There was a brief increase in the volume of early-morning bustle as she opened the door, and then it was just him and Matt again. Foggy tried to avoid looking at him too closely. Tried to convince himself that the body lying there and the friend he still missed after everything were two very different people. 

The numbers on the machines were definitely different now. Higher. He still didn’t know what that meant.

The door opened again, but it wasn’t Karen. A nurse, a different one, again, came in and checked his chart, looking at the machines.

“Morning.”

She glanced over at him for a moment. “Good morning. I’m just going to fetch the doctor.”  
The nurse left without another word. That was promising. Or not. He couldn’t tell. His heart felt tight in his chest.

It didn’t take very long for the nurse to come back with a doctor. She nodded at him and shook his hand – her fingers were cold. “I’m Dr Venter. Could you go wait outside for a moment while we examine Mr Murdock.”

That wasn’t a question. Foggy stood out in the hallway, wincing while he waited. The biting fluorescent lights were doing an effective job of waking him up. His stomach was grumbling by the time the doctor came out. He stared at her dumbly.

Dr Venter smiled at him. It’s the first smile he’d seen in a while and looked wildly out of place. “You have to remember that his condition is very serious--” Foggy nodded, unwilling to interrupt. “-- and I can’t guarantee anything, but it does look like he’s improving.”

He was going to be OK. That didn’t even seem possible. It didn’t seem to penetrate the dread he’d been caught in since he’d gotten here. 

Matt was going to be OK.

Foggy sagged slowly. “Thank you.” He held out his arm to shake and she took it and petted him vaguely on the back of the hand before walking off. Not what he’d intended, but that works too.

He went back into the room, leaving the door slightly open. Was it his imagination, or did Matt’s breathing sound a little less disgusting?

 

Karen nudged the door all the way open with her foot and handed him a paper cup. She looked at him questioningly. He wondered what had changed in his expression. He took a big mouthful of coffee - it was watery and disgusting. 

“Thanks. The doctor was just here.” He paused and Karen stilled and swallowed. “She said it actually looks like he’s getting better.” Saying it made it real. He’s getting better.

Karen closed her eyes for a moment and let out a shuddering breath. She sat down in the chair she’d spent the night sleeping uncomfortably in and worried at her coffee cup. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. 

Foggy stood with his back against the wall, stretching out his shoulders between sips of coffee.

The Karen let out a huff and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stood up.

He blinked at her. “You’re leaving?”

She made her way to the door and turned around. “I’m glad Matt’s going to be OK. I really am. But I’m not staying here. We broke off contact for a reason. And he did this to himself.” 

Foggy wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find the right words. Karen clearly meant what she said. And she was right, besides. She walked out the door, and he was left standing there and wondering what to do.

He stood there a while longer in that horrible room with just the sound of Matt’s breathing for company, and then went to find something to eat.

There was a vending machine around the corner that delivered a couple of dry, crumbly fruit bars. Further exploration delivered the men’s room – thank God – and a waiting room of some kind a couple of corridors away.

He went back to the damn uncomfortable chair in Matt’s room with a stack of magazines and a bottle of OJ, and settled in to wait.

^  
< >

  
  
Foggy found a cafeteria a couple of levels lower and chewed on a cold rubbery omelette sandwich on the way back to Matt’s room. There was a limit to how long he could sit still and worry, and he was still hungry.

Someone had switched on the light. He paused for a moment and looked through the blinds. Matt was awake. Foggy’s treacherous heart sped up but Matt didn’t react. He was probably still too out of it to be able to tell he was there.

Matt barely moved. He blinked slowly at the ceiling, one finger scratched at an apparent loose thread in the sheet. 

Foggy tossed the rest of the ancient sandwich into the trash and instantly thought how stupid that was. He was still hungry, and Matt was going to be able to smell it on him anyway. Besides, he didn’t even want to go in there.

He took a fortifying breath, brushed off his hands on his pants, and went in the door. He’d waited here all this time. He could take a few moments to behave like a responsible adult. Tell an ex-coworker he was sorry he was ill, and then leave.

Matt tilted his head at him when he opened the door. Foggy closed it carefully behind him and waited to see how Matt would react. His heart was tripping hysterically in his chest and the fact that he knew Matt could hear it did not make him feel any better.

Matt frowned faintly. His breathing still sounded terrible, but it was deeper now. His eyes widened and he coughed.

“Foggy?”

The disbelief in his voice stung. _He_ wasn’t the one who didn’t show up at the hospital. _He_ wasn’t the one who left.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

Matt panted for a moment. “Hey.” He tried to supress a coughing fit. It didn’t work. It took a couple of breaths before he could speak again. “I di… I didn’t think you’d be here.” His eyes were still wide, staring vacantly past him.

Figures. His heart was still racing, but the reason was easier to name now.  
“I wasn’t going to come.” He kept his voice as mild as he could. “The doctor said you were dying. Pretty much had to.”

Matt took a sharp breath that immediately turned into a phlegmy cough. “…that’s very _conscientious_ of you,” he said viciously.

_That makes one of us_ , Foggy didn’t say. He didn’t want to sound hurt now. He tried to keep the same mild tone but he was _furious_. “… but, hey, apparently you’re a tough bastard. Matt Murdock lives to get himself killed another day. Hooray!”

It looked like Matt tried to lift his head for a moment, but couldn’t manage it. He clenched his jaw. Once again the only sound in the room was Matt’s rasping breath, now sharp and panting. His eyes rolled back to the ceiling. There was a world of things they weren’t saying to each other.

Foggy managed to gather his temper. All the flayed pieces of himself he thought he’d folded together and healed and were just raw exposed nerves again.

“Goodbye, Matt.” 

He turned sharply and left, the sound of Matt’s wet gasps still in his ears.

^  
< >

  
  
Foggy stomped into the office, tossed his bag into the corner and dropped into his chair. It creaked alarmingly. He was aware he was being childish. And that he should probably just have gone home and freshened up and got some sleep instead.

But the office was home, in any meaningful sense of the word. This was where he spent most of his time; this was where his friends were. This was where he was comfortable. And it had taken a while after Matt left for that to be the case again. A while before the office across from him – empty or with a near-stranger in it – didn’t make a cold band tighten around his chest. He wasn’t going to let him take that away from him again.

Besides, he was in serious need of distraction.

Karen stood at the door to his office, a stack of files in her hands.

He glanced at the files, “Thanks,” and she dropped them on his desk. But she stayed there, hovering uncertainly. Tense.

Right. He wasn’t the only one who had loved him.

“So Matt woke up.”

He could see the relief in the way her shoulders sagged. She swallowed heavily and nodded.

“And?”

“And it instantly turned into an argument. I don’t know what I was expecting.” Foggy closed his eyes for a moment. “Do you mind? I really need to get to work.”

Karen nodded. “Sure.” She started from his office, and then turned back. “Christopher went looking for you at the hospital. There’s a case he wanted to discuss. You must have just missed each other.”

Apparently Christopher had no notion of a suitable time and place. “Why didn’t he just call me?” he snapped.

Karen raised he eyebrows. “Because your phone died at some point last night? I’ll call to tell him you’re here.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was doing everything wrong today. “Right. Sorry. I’m just...”

“You had a _really_ horrible night followed by a no-doubt wonderful argument and you’re in a spectacularly bad mood?” Karen gave him a crooked smile.

“That sounds about right. I’m just going to finish prep-work for this Ramirez case and then I’m going home to sulk and drink too much and get some sleep. Maybe not in that order.”

“Sounds good.”

 

By the time Christopher showed up Foggy was just about ready to go home. He’d gotten a defence worked out for the Ramirez kid and started to get his coat.

Christopher marched into his office, rested his bag on his desk and looked at him meaningfully. Foggy felt a headache coming up.

“Yes?”

“So I might have another plaintiff for the Freeman case. I’m not sure whether we can sue the landlord for both of them at the same time or if it would be a better idea to take this separately so I wanted to…” He started to get an entire stack of documents from his bag. Foggy’s restraint slipped.

“Can we do this tomorrow? I really need to get some sleep.”

Christopher blinked at him owlishly. “Of course. You must have had a tough night.” He patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. “If you want to talk…”

“No thank you, Christopher.” Foggy shrugged on his coat and headed to the door.

Apparently undeterred, Christopher followed behind him. “So I met Murdock.”

Foggy paused and then kept on walking without turning around. Christopher was the last person he wanted to discuss Matt with.

“He’s not really what I expected, from the way you two talk about him--”

_Don’t react, just keep on walking._

“-- but I guess the unreliability makes sense now.”

Foggy stopped. _Dammit, curiousity._ “What do you mean?” 

Great. He’d gotten drawn in. No he was probably going to be stuck in another conversation it would take hours to escape from.

“I mean, the track marks explain a lot.”

Foggy spun around. “ _What!?_ That’s not…” 

Karen gave him a slightly pitying look. “You didn’t notice that?”

“Matt wouldn’t…” But he didn’t finish that sentence.

Who knew what Matt would do?

^  
< >

  
  
He wasn’t worried about Matt. He _wasn’t_. His days of continually worrying over Matt were long over. Because Matt left. Chose to leave. And whatever was going on with him now was nothing for him to be worrying over.

It didn’t matter how he had come to be in the state he was in now. Although, was it really _that_ surprising? Matt had always been a mess, one way or the other. He just used to be spectacularly good at hiding it.

Foggy checked the time. If he skipped breakfast he could swing by the hospital before he needed to be at the office. Great.

And of course it was the lovely nurse Janet behind the nurses station. She looked up at him blankly when he approached.

“Good morning. I’m here to check up on Matt Murdock. How is he doing?” 

Her expression didn’t change.

“Please.” He added, calmly.

She crossed her arms. “You could just go see him.”

Foggy had faced off against worse than a disapproving nurse before. “I could, yes. How is he?”

No judgemental look from a stranger was going to make him feel guilty. Really.

“He’s responding well to treatment.” She looked at the screen for a moment. “If things continue as they are he’ll be released tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? He just almost died and now he’s well enough to leave?”

“The hospital is overcapacity and understaffed. We can’t afford to keep anyone any longer than necessary.” She gave him another unblinking look. “With care and attention he’ll recuperate well enough _at home_. He certainly can _not_ afford a relapse. Do you understand me?”

He met her stare and squashed the desire to tap his foot. “You’re the one who told me he was homeless.”

She didn’t need to respond.

“That’s not... You can’t… He’s not my responsibility.”

“He’s not anyone’s responsibility.”

Foggy wiped his hand over his face. Matt left. They were best friends for ten years, and he lied to him, and let him down, and left. And it took him ages to put his life back together. To get to the point where everything didn’t _hurt_.

The universe was conspiring against him. 

He spun away from a satisfied looking Janet and marched up to Matt’s room.

Matt was partially sitting up, propped up on cushions. Now that he was conscious and awake he looked even less like himself. Drained, like there was nothing left of him. He sighed and then jutted out his jaw as though bracing for a punch when Foggy stepped into the room.

“Where have you been staying?”

That was a blow he clearly wasn’t expecting. Foggy can almost see the response ‘What do you care?’ flash through his mind. Matt visibly bit it back. “Where I can, when necessary.”

He stood there looking at him for a while. What he first thought were bruises on his arm were clearly track marks, now that he knew what he was looking for.

Matt didn’t say anything else, but Foggy knew him well enough. Saw him breath in sharply but then clench his jaw. He walked out during the coughing fit that followed. 

When he got back to the nurses station Janet was gone. A pleasant looking man was there instead. Foggy swallowed back his irritation at not getting another go at besting her.

“Hi. Could you please have someone let me know when Matthew Murdock will be released? I’ll come pick him up.” He sighed. “I’m Foggy Nelson. His emergency contact.”

The man smiled at him and entered something into the computer. “OK. I made a note of that for you, sir.”

Foggy looked at him suspiciously. No-one was that up-beat. “Thank you.”

He hoped they actually called him _before_ they released Matt, otherwise he’d probably just go running off on his own, doctor’s advice or not.

The damp seeped into his shoes as he slogged to the office through the slush, and he regretted the decision he made with every step.

^  
< >

  
  
The heating in the office rattled, not quite managing to win the battle against the cold radiating in from the windows.

Karen dropped a stack of files in front of him and settled on his desk. “You’ve been in a mood all day.”

He took the first file and frowned at it without looking up. “I haven’t snapped at you.”

Karen nodded to herself. “True. I noticed you very carefully not snapping at me. Or Christopher for that matter. Well done.”

Christopher looked up in his office. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. I haven’t noticed anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s going on, Foggy?” 

He sighed.

“And if you say it’s about Matt I’m going to be really annoyed, and then who’s going to wrangle the copy-machine for you.”

Foggy tried not to look guilty. He had nothing to look guilty about.

Karen sat back and crossed her arms. “Great.”

He sat back and squeezed the bridge of his nose. It had been increasingly difficult to keep a level temper the last few days. “I went to the hospital this morning.”

“Is he OK?”

Foggy tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. The lightbulb flickered faintly. They needed to do repairs. “Yeah. Peachy. The nurse said he could be released tomorrow.” He looked back at Karen. “To recuperate at home, she said.”

She considered him steadily. “At home” Karen huffed and looked at the sleet out the window instead. “You said you’d take him in, didn’t you?”

Foggy just sighed again.

Christopher appeared in his doorway, still pink-nosed from the cold. ”That seems unwise.”

He either missed or completely ignored the sharp looks they both send him. This wasn’t his business.

He continued undeterred. “It’s not a good idea to have a homeless junkie living on your couch, no matter what your history with the guy may be.”

Foggy blinked. _Wow, harsh, man._

“--and if he was unreliable before you certainly can’t trust him now.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a lot of effort into making Foggy seem hurt and angry, while still having him sound like Foggy. I have no idea if I pulled it off.


	3. down

Foggy stood outside of Matt’s hospital room, watching him through the blinds. Something about the tenseness in the way he moved and the tightness of his expression told him Matt knew he was there. The doctor, one he hadn’t seen before, was telling Matt about medication and needing rest. Foggy had already gotten a page with instructions from the satisfied looking nurse. Another battle lost.

 

Matt sat sideways on the bed, wearing grimy cargo pants and a hoody that looked as though someone had wiped the floor with it. Maybe they had. He was moving very slowly, attempting to pull on a sock.

 

By the time the doctor had finished his speech, with Matt for all intents and purposes ignoring him, Matt had managed one sock and sluggishly started struggling with the other one. Foggy walked into the room as the doctor left, pushing a wheelchair ahead of him.

 

“Hey.”

 

Matt grunted at his sock, his hair hanging in his face. Presumably this was a greeting. Foggy let his irritation wash over him and pass. He wasn’t going to get into a pointless squabble again. He was here to pick Matt up so he can get better. That was it. 

 

Foggy was strongly reminded of the day after he found the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen bleeding out on the floor. Matt sitting there, in pain and pale and exhausted, struggling to put on a pair of socks. He felt a stab of bitterness. _What the hell do I know about Matt Mudock?”_

 

Matt fumbled and the sock fell to the ground. He drooped slightly. Foggy took half a step forward to pick the damn thing up, but restrained himself.  
Matt slipped carefully off the bed. He held on the edge with one hand and slowly bent over to pick up the sock, swaying slightly when he stood back up. It took him a moment to catch his breath, coughing, but then he staggered a couple of steps over and collapsed into a chair. He sighed and started at the sock again. Through all of this he had kept his face turned away from him.

 

Once he had both socks on and had slipped his feet into the boots standing next to the bed, not bothering with the laces, Matt lifted his head toward Foggy.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Foggy pushed the wheelchair over towards him. “To take you home with me.” If he could hear the resignation is his own voice then Matt could definitely hear it.

 

Matt froze. “Why?”

 

“Because the nurse told me you’d end up dropping dead if you go back out into the streets again.”

 

Matt clenched his teeth. “That’s not your problem.” He tried to stand up.

 

“You really don’t care who you hurt, do you?” Foggy watched Matt flinch. “-- and it is apparently my problem, since I’m still your emergency contact.”

 

“Well then you can walk me out the hospital and I’ll be on my way.” He growled at him.

 

“No.” Foggy said calmly, more carefully positioning the wheelchair next to Matt.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I don’t _actually_ want you to die.”

 

“I didn’t ask for your pity.” Matt’s tone might have been sharp, but he couldn’t hide the shame in his expression.

 

Foggy just stood and waited, and Matt eventually stood up unsteadily and moved to the wheelchair. He ignored the tightness in his chest as he wheeled him away. This was going to be fine. 

 

They both sat in silence in the cab, bitterly not-talking to each other. Matt looked furious, or was trying to look furious. Foggy _was_ furious. He was trying not to be, but he was. This asshole picked being some larger-than-life superhero over their friendship, but when it came back down to real life here he was, having to bail him out again.

 

The cab rumbled to a stop and the air bit as they threw open the doors. Matt carefully hauled himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around himself. There was still some remnants of snow on the ground and the wind stung.

 

Matt trailed after Foggy on his way into the apartment building. Foggy didn’t let him get too far behind in case he decided to disappear, but he was moving far too slowly to be able to run off. They still weren’t talking. After just a couple of steps Matt’s breathing hitched up to the extent that he probably couldn’t talk if he’d wanted to. The walk from the cab up to the apartment completely wiped him out. 

 

Foggy unlocked the door to the apartment and told Matt to take the couch while he tossed down his keys. By the time he came back with a pillow and some blankets he’d already crumpled asleep. Foggy just stood there, undecided. He’d never known Matt to look so helpless, and even after all of the crap he’d put him through his first thought was to let him sleep; to gently take of his shoes, manoeuvre him into a more comfortable position, and tuck him in.

 

Matt coughed and Foggy’s chest constricted. He dropped the pile of bedding on the couch – Matt stirred – and said loudly.

 

“Don’t forget to take off your boots.”

 

And he just walked away.

^  
< >

Foggy stared at the ceiling, unwilling to get up. Getting up meant he had to deal with Matt. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t want to see Matt.  
For so long after he had left he’d hoped Matt would come back. That he’d apologise. That they’d be able to salvage some remnant of their friendship. After a couple of months Foggy had given up on the idea that Matt would contact him, that he’d be sorry for the way he’d trashed their lives. But he missed him all the same.

 

They’d been best friends for so long, he’d loved him for so long. He missed their easy conversation, his teasing smile and relentless idealism. He’d thought that, no matter what happened, he could always trust Matt to do the right thing. He was his unfailing compass for whatever ethical dilemma they might face.  
And possibly that was the problem. No-one could live up to that.

 

One day, in what he pretended to himself was rational, grown-up, being-the-bigger-person behaviour, he’d called him. Matt didn’t answer. He never called back.  
And now there was some resentful stranger on his couch, and all he could do was hate him for what he’d done to his memory of Matt.

 

So Foggy tried to enjoy the warm cocoon of his blankets for just another moment, and then got out of bed.

 

The sound of regular, rattling breathing came from the couch. With any luck Matt was still asleep and he could just ignore him.

^  
< >

Foggy finished his breakfast as quietly as possible. Normally sit in the living room and maybe watch some morning cartoons. Now he was just hiding in the kitchen with seething resentment at the person he’d unwillingly dragged here in the first place. Once he was done he dumped his empty coffee mug in the sink and grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge. When he entered the living room he switched the lights on. It wouldn’t make any difference to Matt, but it would save him from getting a heart-attack from an unexpected voice in the darkness when he gets home.

 

He stared down at Matt. He was curled up into the couch under a pile of blankets, all he could see of him was a mop of dark hair.

 

“You awake?”

 

Matt sighed and coughed. “Yes.” He didn’t look around.

 

“Great.” _So what if Matt was behaving like a sulky teenager. Don’t lose your temper._

 

He put the orange juice down next to the couch. “There’s breakfast on the table for when you feel up to it. Don’t leave.”

 

Foggy carefully pocketed his spare keys as well before locking the door and leaving for the office. Under normal circumstances Matt might be able to jump out a window or break down a door, but at the moment he could barely stand up. He was going to stay whether he like it or not. And once he was well again his issues would be his own problem.

^  
< >

He thought he’d be there early but both Karen and Christopher were already there when he got to the office. The both turned to look at him when he opened the door – clearly they’d been talking about something.

 

Christopher cleared his throat. “So how are things at home?”

 

So it was going to be like this, then. “Awkward, thank you. And you?” Foggy hung up his coat and scarf.

 

“About the same as usual.” He replied levelly.

 

Foggy tried to avoid the rest of what was coming, but Karen followed him into his office. He didn’t feel like facing any of this.

 

“You look like shit.”

 

“I didn’t really get any sleep. He was coughing all night.”

 

Karen crossed her arms at him.

 

“Yes, I get it. You disapprove. Christopher disapproves. I noticed. You haven’t been subtle about it. Can we just get back to work?”

 

And there was a lot of work to do. They whole morning was a solid mass of meetings, and Foggy still had the work of the time he spent in the hospital to catch up on. And as  
much as he might want to stay away from home at the moment, he couldn’t exactly work long hours now. At least part of the job of playing nurse-maid involved actually being there. He could probably get some work done at the dining room table.

 

Christopher finally found out who was going to be representing Mrs. Freeman’s landlord - it was some incompetent, new to the city, with no experience in tenancy cases. At least someone was in a good mood.

^  
< >

When Foggy got home he half-expected his apartment to have been trashed. He’d seen Matt’s temper in action, even before all the Daredevil shenanigans started. Although he probably didn’t quite have the energy for that yet.

 

His apartment was perfectly tidy. The breakfast he’d left out was gone, dishes washed and put away.

 

Matt sat up blearily in the couch, still half asleep. He must have taken a shower at some point – his hair was clean and he no longer looked unhealthily waxy. He’d even gotten rid of the beard. He was wearing some of Foggy’s old clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. They accentuated how much weight he’d lost. 

 

For a moment Foggy felt a rush of offense that Matt just assumed, just took some of his clothes. But then again,… _Did you want him to wait and ask for permission to take a shower? Or to shower and then wait in the nude until you told him it was OK to put on a pair of his old sweats? Just put on the filthy clothes he’d been wearing to start with?_

 

Foggy huffed to himself. This was never going to work if _every_ thing that Matt did immediately pissed him off.

 

Matt sat up limply against the armrest. “Hey.”

 

Foggy had been dreading coming home. He’d expected argument or grinding petulance. Matt didn’t want to be here. Foggy didn’t actually want him here. There should have been snarling. Instead Matt seemed to be trying to play good houseguest. The awkwardness was palpable.

 

“Hey. What did you have for lunch?”

 

Matt shook his head. “I slept all day.”

 

Foggy nodded, not bothering to narrate. He was going to have to make sure there was lunch for Matt to eat if he wanted him to get well as soon as possible, but there wasn’t much point in harassing him about that now. He also wasn’t going to ask if he took his medicine. The bottles seemed to have moved around, so that was probably OK.

 

“I’m going to make dinner.” He retreated to the kitchen. Part of him still wanted to rage at Matt, but he looked too pathetic at the moment to get any pleasure out of it. It was easier just to ignore him as much as possible.

^  
< >

His mother called while he was trying to put together something healthy in the kitchen. The conversation rambled on for a while, and then she finally arrived at what was clearly the reason she’d called.

 

“… I hear you and Matthew are friends again.” Foggy’s insides contracted at the words.

 

That was fast. Who had been talking to who? Matt had only been there a day. He swallowed. “No, mom.”

 

He could hear Matt coughing in the next room and flinched at the thought that he must have overheard that. Then again, he wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping on private conversations in the first place.

 

There was a short pause on the other end of the line. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, mom. Look, I’m making dinner, I’ll call you back later, OK?” With any luck he’ll be able to avoid this conversation completely.

 

“Sure, ‘bye honey.”

 

“Bye mom.”

^  
< >

They ate in silence in the living room, the TV giving them an excuse to not be talking to each other. Matt sat stiffly on the very edge of the couch, looking resolute. Every now and again he scratched at his arm. They had fallen into mostly ignoring each other, with Matt being teeth-grindingly polite whenever conversation was necessary.  
Matt expression twitched, working his way up to something. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. Foggy kept himself solely pointed at the TV. He wasn’t going to invite whatever was coming.

 

“How well do you know you upstairs neighbour?”

 

That wasn’t what he was expecting. Where was Matt going with this? And was pretending to be civil going to be easier than just ignoring each other?

 

Foggy decided to treat it as a straightforward question. “Not very well. I think she just moved here? I’ve seen her getting her post, but we haven’t really talked.”

 

Matt hesitated. “I was—“ he coughed, “-- listening in. She--”

 

“You’ve been eavesdropping on my neighbours?” The anger that he was just managing to keep away from the surface rose again. No-one was ever safe from Matt.

 

“I got bored.”

 

_Bored!_ “You know, _normal people_ watch TV or surf the net or read a book.”

 

Matt raised eyebrows and jutted out his jaw. Despite his best efforts he looked hurt.  
Foggy’s brain caught up with what he had just said. _Shit._ He didn’t have any Braille books lying around, and neither his TV nor his current computer had any accessibility features.

 

“That was a dig at your invasive senses, not because you’re…”

 

“I can’t help the way I sense the world either.”

 

Ignoring each other was definitely the better approach. But apparently Matt wasn’t willing to let it go.  
“So her…”

 

“Matt, will you please just give it a rest.”

 

“… _so her ex_ was stalking her. That’s why she moved here. And now she thinks he found her again. She’s scared. And she doesn’t know anyone here.”

 

Foggy sighed. No matter how long the list of Matt’s faults may be (and it was very long), he did sincerely care about people. That had to be at least part of the reason why he was willing to destroy his life for the sake of being Daredevil, the attraction of violence aside.

 

“ _Has_ he found her?”

 

“I can’t tell. As far as I could hear the stalking’s been mostly digital. There’s not much I can do about that.”  
Matt had been speaking very carefully, keeping his expression neutral. He was trying not to piss him off. And that was just enough to piss him off.

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

Matt cleared his throat carefully. “So you can befriend her in case she needs someone?”

 

“You want me to _befriend_ her-” Foggy dropped the air-quotes, realising these were probably lost on Matt, “-with ulterior motives because of what you learnt by creepy-spying on her? There is so much wrong with that, Matt.”

 

“She’s alone, and she’s scared, Foggy.” Matt licked his lips and picked at his sleeve. “And she’s in the laundry room right now.”

 

Foggy huffed and cursed to himself, but he did march down to the laundry room where he introduced himself to a lovely lady named Audrey. They made friendly conversation during the spin cycle and Foggy told her to give him a call if she needed anything.

 

Matt was half-asleep by the time he got back. He sat up on the couch and shuddered into a burst of coughing.

 

“Thank you, Foggy.”

 

“I didn’t do it for you.”

^  
< >

The next morning Foggy dragged himself out of bed with difficulty. Matt had spent the whole night coughing again and he didn’t get any sleep. Again.  
He put on a pot of coffee.

 

“What would you like for breakfast?”

 

“I…” Matt was interrupted by a horrible rasping coughing fit. The sound made Foggy feel faintly nauseous. “… I’m not hungry.”

 

So teenage petulance it is, then. Foggy took his cereal and sat across from Matt, studying him. Matt lay limp against the armrest, coughing periodically. The dark circles under his eyes and gaunt face with too-sharp cheekbones were nothing new, but his eyes were glassy in a way that had nothing to do with blindness. He was shivering.  
Something twisted in Foggy’s chest. After all this time there was still a part of him that just wanted to wrap Matt in a blanket and take care of him. That wanted to pull him closer. Foggy stomped on it, ferociously.

 

“You’re staring at me.” Matt could barely lift his head.

 

“You don’t seem well.”

 

Matt twitched and folded the blankets closer around himself. “No kidding.”

^  
< >

It was a long day at the office. He was tired and the stale air made his throat hurt. He still hadn’t caught up on his work, and Karen was clearly edgy about something. This lasted until the meeting with Mr. Ramirez. The case was going well, but by the end of the meeting Karen was staring at him with murder in her eyes. She smiled pleasantly at the client while seeing him off, and then turned on him.

 

“You have to get some _sleep_ , Foggy. You were barely paying attention, and you were yawning the whole time.”

 

Matt wasn’t even working here and he _still_ managed to make trouble for him at work. _Damnit_.  
“I know. You’re right.” He leant against Karen’s desk. “I think I should take him back to the hospital. Pretty sure he’s getting worse.” They were both avoiding saying Matt’s name.

 

Christopher appeared in the doorway, cross-armed and disapproving like he was every time Matt was brought up. “He’s started shivering and twitching? It’s about due.”

 

Foggy just stared at him in incomprehension..

 

Christopher looked back wryly. “Withdrawal.”

 

“ _Fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I checked, and the timing is all wrong for heroin withdrawal to be realistic at this point. Artistic licence?


	4. cold

By the time Foggy got home that evening Matt was shivering and panting between bouts of coughing. His movements were slow and uncoordinated and there were lines of exhaustion in his face. Foggy got him a glass of water without a word. The twitching was clearly visible as he lifted the glass to drink.

Matt put down the glass and scratched listlessly at his arm. “Thanks.” He was sweating heavily.

Foggy sat down a safe distance away – Matt smelt of stale sweat and vomit. And not in the fun day-after-party kind of way. “I’ve called Claire.”

Matt dropped his hand. Foggy watched his eyes tracking frantically. “That’s not necessary.”

Foggy frowned. “Opinions differ. She’s already on her way.”

“No.” Matt tried to sound firm, but he devolved into a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath. It was a painful sound. Foggy got up went to rifle through the fridge for dinner. The more he could avoid this situation the better. Whatever was coming was not going to be pleasant.

 

It didn’t take very long for Claire to get there. When he opened the door she looked at him with equal parts annoyance and resignation. Foggy was sure he had more-or-less the same expression. She’d been unwilling to come when he called her, or at least she pretended to be. It seemed like Matt had been pretty comprehensive in burning his bridges.

“Thank you for coming.”

She just nodded and followed him into the living room.  
Matt was sitting almost upright and had his arms tightly crossed, possibly in an attempt to hide the twitching. It didn’t work. “I’m fine.”

Claire sat down on the coffee table across from him. “Clearly.” Matt swallowed as Claire just sat there looking at him. She shook her head.

Matt tried to back up. “Leave me alone.” 

She sighed and held out her hand expectantly. Matt didn’t respond. Or didn’t notice.

“Look, just give it a couple of days. It’ll pass,” his chin was shaking.

Claire ignored him and took out a stethoscope. He tried to catch her wrist as she zipped down his hoody but she avoided him easily. The flat irritation in her expression was gradually turning to real concern.

“I’m going to take your blood pressure.” Her voice was softer.

“Claire…” Matt was pleading. Foggy couldn’t tell what for.

Claire tapped Matt on the back of his hand and he held out his arm, defeated.

Once she was done Claire looked over at Foggy. It was pointless to try to have a conversation Matt wasn’t going to overhear. “So yes, it looks like withdrawal--”

Matt gasped, which immediately turned to a vicious bout of coughing. He doubled over, and then stayed that way, folded in on himself, turned away from them. His breathing shuddered.

It took Foggy a moment to realise what had been going on. Matt had no idea how obvious the track marks were. He’d been trying to avoid them finding out he was using. It was pitiful, really.

Based on the look Claire was giving him, she got it too. “-- and it’s not good. His heart is overtaxed already and it’s not even reached the peak.” She nudged Matt’s ankle with her foot. “Matt, do you know where to get Suboxone?”

Matt stayed curled up and facing away from them. His voice was flat. “No.”

“Don’t be difficult., it’s…”

“I know what it is. I don’t know where to get any.”

Claire noticed Foggy’s expression. “It’ll treat the withdrawal. He _really_ needs it. And it’s not something I have access to.” She stood up and threw up her hands uselessly. “Matt is seriously in no condition to be going cold turkey.”

Matt twitched and pulled the blanket closer. He still didn’t face them. “I’m fine. It’ll be over soon.”

“Yeah, it’ll be over one way or another,” Claire snapped

Matt looked up for the first time, a vicious expression on his face. “That’s fine too.”

There was a shocked silence. Just the sound of Matt’s desperate rasping breathing. He kept facing them, trying to keep his jaw steady. Foggy could feel his heart pounding painfully in his chest.  
He stood up. “Fuck that.” He looked at Claire. “You said he can’t go cold turkey…” She nodded, frowning. “So we get him a fix.”

Matt sat up. “No.”

They ignored him.

“That’ll work. I can--”

“No. I’m not doing that.” Matt tried to gather some dregs of his dignity, to keep some resolution in his voice. He stammered.

“You clearly had not trouble doing it before, no reason to be squeamish now.” Foggy knew he was being cruel. “I’m not letting you have a heart-attack on my couch.”

“Then let me leave.” Matt was begging now.

“Fuck you, Matt.”

Matt bent back into the same position, curled in on himself, slightly turned away from them. He closed his eyes.

Foggy massaged his temples. This was going to be a fun night. “Where can I find some heroin? Do you have a stash?”

Matt didn’t answer and didn’t move from his position. He started rocking, slightly. Or maybe that was just the trembling.

Foggy grabbed his bag. Being angry was easy now. “Fine, I’m sure I can find some on my own.” He really didn’t want to wander the streets looking for a drug-dealer. But he would do what was necessary. Foggy to the drug-dealing rescue. 

Matt turned to Foggy. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“That’s my problem. Claire, can you get clean a clean--”

“I have needles in my kit.”

Of course. A nurse would have needles. Foggy headed for the door. “I’m getting some heroin.” That was high on the list of things he’d never thought he’d say. _Fuck you, Matt Murdock._ “You can tell me where to find drugs or I can traips around looking for some, but the end result is going to be the same.”

There was a brief silence, and then the squeak of the couch springs as Matt shifted and gave him an address and location.

^  
< >

  
  
When he got back home Matt sat curled into the armrest. He was shaking and sweating, glassy-eyed. His breathing was reduced to sharp wheezing.

Foggy stood around uncertainly. _I can’t believe we’re doing this._ “So, spoon and lighter… is that really how it works?” 

Matt didn’t respond. Claire sat on the coffee table across from him and checked his heart rate again. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, but she didn't say anything.

They got everything ready and ended up just putting it on the table in front of Matt. He didn’t move. “Please don’t make me do this.” 

Foggy had never heard Matt beg before. He didn’t like it.

“Don’t be difficult, Matt. You’ve done this before.” Often enough, apparently. Foggy’s insides curled in revulsion. That was what Matt had become. “And now Claire can monitor your condition. It’s safe.” Foggy looked at Claire. The strain in her expression did not bode well.

Matt shook his head. He was trembling so badly it almost wasn’t noticeable.

Claire visibly steeled herself. “You can go through withdrawal once you’ve recovered from the pneumonia. Anything else is pure stupidity. Take a small fix. Less than your usual dose.” 

Matt flinched but he didn’t move. 

She sighed. “Please don’t put me into the position of having to give this to you.”

Matt’s fingers picked at the fabric of the couch. Foggy couldn’t tell if that was his habitual tick or the withdrawal twitching. Eventually he uncurled and sat back. He’d never looked so beaten down. Matt always fought back, always resisted, even against his own best interest. But not anymore. He reached out to the table and hesitated.

“You’re going to _watch_?” 

Foggy steeled himself. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for him, no matter how pathetic he looked. “Just get on with it.”

Matt closed his eyes and ducked his head, and then reached for the drugs. His hands were shaking so badly that it didn’t seem like he would be even be able to… to _cook his own heroin_ , Foggy grimaced in disgust… but Matt managed it with practiced ease. When he was done he paused with the syringe, aware of the both of them watching him. His jaw worked, biting back whatever he wanted to say.

Claire shifted closer. “Come on, Matt.” She took his free hand. He turned to her for a moment, and something in his expression hardened when she felt for this wrist, checking his pulse.

For a moment there was a flicker of rage, and then he injected without so much as bothering to feel for a vein. The tense twitching continued for just a moment longer and then Matt fell back into the couch with a slow, shuddering inhale. His hand dropped to his lap and his knees fell open. His exhale was an obscene sigh of pleasure. Foggy shivered with sudden goose bumps. It was too hot under his skin. He had to get out of there. There were pinpricks running up his spine.

Foggy cleared his throat. “I’m going to reheat some lasagne. Want some?”

Claire was taking Matt’s blood pressure. “Sure. Thanks.”

He retreated to the kitchen and waited for his inappropriate reaction to die down. He was over Matt. He _was_. 

Yes, clearly he was. Because clearly no matter what happened, not matter what Matt did, no matter how far he fell, he was always going to help him. To take care of him, even to the point of breaking the law. Foggy tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t want to start crying, Matt would be able to tell. He couldn’t take the humiliation on top of everything. Although at the moment Matt probably couldn’t reliably sense much at all. Foggy leant with his back against the fridge for a moment, sniffing quietly. 

And then wiped his face and heated up some food for Claire. He didn’t have time for this.

When he came back with three plates he tried to avoid looking at Matt, but failed miserable. He was drawn to him, like always. But Matt wasn’t there. He’d let his head loll, his eyes rolling back, blinking occasionally. Everything _Matt_ about him, all the tension and restraint and quiet arrogance, seemed to have been scooped out.

“Matt?”

Matt turned his head to him, wobbling with the movement. “Mmm?”

“You want to eat something?” The bastard was way too skinny and he was apparently turning into his mother. Foggy shrugged to himself – there were worse fates. Matt was here to get better, and he would see to it that he did. Otherwise this was for nothing.

Matt shook his head vaguely and started mumbling to himself. Foggy couldn’t make out much more than the occasional word. 

“What did you say?” 

“…sunshine,” Matt said sadly. He seemed exhausted by this convoy. His hand slipped from his lap onto the couch.

Foggy looked over at Claire. She just shrugged at him and started eating. Always pragmatic.

They both sat there, ignoring Matt as much as possible. His movements were languid, apart from the intermittent cough.

Foggy poked at his food. He didn’t want to look at Matt, and looking at Claire wold give away too much. “This seem really messed-up to you?”

Claire put down her plate with a thump. “You mean the part where we basically forced dangerous, illegal drugs on an unwilling participant?” She was furious and Matt was the only viable target. “ _First do no harm._ Jesus.”

“ _You_ said he couldn’t go through withdrawal now.” Apparently he needed to argue with someone. He’d been holding so much in. But Claire was the last person he should be fighting with.

She didn’t rise to the bait. “I did. And it’s true.” There was hurt and worry in her expression. That was what Matt did to people. Foggy looked away so she couldn’t see the echo in his face.

“This is such a mess.”

The sleet outside turned to whispering snow, caught in the light of the streetlamp. Matt occasionally mumbled at people who weren’t there. Foggy put on a movie, sound low, and he and Claire sat there in companionable silence. Every couple of minutes she’d check up on Matt, but apart from that they tried to avoid him. Foggy wondered whether that was easier. To just treat him like a body to be healed, and ignore the person living in it. He didn’t think he could do that.

Foggy didn’t get much rest that night. He and Claire took turns checking on Matt, and the rest of the time they both slept fitfully through his occasional bouts of coughing, each curled up on themselves. He woke up at some point when Claire got up to take her turn and watched her practiced movements. the snow-muffled sound of traffic from outside and the buzzing of the fridge the only sounds.

^  
< >

  
  
Foggy knocked the remnants of rapidly melting snow from his shoes before he went into the office and dropped his coat and bag in a chair. Matt had still been asleep when he and Claire had gone to work. They’d left food and water out on the table. It felt uncomfortably like taking care of a dog.

It was an enormous relief to be back at the office. He felt lighter. The swirling guilt and hurt didn’t quite seem to reach to here. Leaving his apartment was an escape.

Foggy was at the office first. The snow must have slowed the other two down. He turned on the heating and put on a pot of coffee, relishing the quiet. It would give him the chance to let go of the buzzing tension that the last night had built up. And he still needed to catch up on the work he’d missed. He was due in court soon and there was a lot to do.

Christopher came in not long after. He called out a greeting and immediately retreated to his office. He had a meeting with opposing council that afternoon and was preparing obsessively. Foggy had to get as much done as he could now, because Christopher will probably be wanting to bounce ideas of him later. The heating gurgled companionably.

Karen came in with a rush.  
“Sorry, sorry.” She was carrying a bagel and fumbled with that and her purse while taking off her coat in a rush. Her scarf got tangled in her hair and the strap of her purse and she stopped and sighed, trapped

Foggy stood up and helpfully held out a cup of coffee. “Morning.”

She untangled her hair. “I’m late.”

“Yes. Take a deep breath and drink your coffee. The office will still be here once you’ve calmed down.”

Foggy took the resulting smile as a win. Karen accepted the coffee and he went back to his office.

 

Later that morning the three of them were talking through the current cases. Things were good with the three of them. They worked well together, with the occasional kerfuffle when Karen teased Christopher for his pompous behaviour. He never noticed, or at least pretended not to.

Just like he perversely never seemed to notice when there was a subject someone didn’t want to discuss.

There was a lull in the conversation. Christopher sat back in his chair and crossed his arms faux-casually. “So how’s Murdock doing?”

Foggy flinched. He’d been quite pleasingly managing to not think about Matt all morning. And he didn’t really want to now, but it was unlikely that he’d be able to fob Karen and Christopher off without at least some kind of answer.

“I got a nurse to check up on him.”

Karen looked doubtful. “Nurses make house calls now?”

This was off to a great start. The ease between the three of them was gone already. “She’s one of Matt’s exes.” That was more-or-less true. Karen’s grimace showed what she thought about it. “She was pissed, but she came.” He nodded to Christopher. “And you were right. He was going through withdrawal.”

Foggy paused. There was no way the rest of it was going to go down well. “And she doesn't have access to Suboxone--”

Christopher’s expression twisted. “You got him a fix, didn’t you?”

How on earth was he supposed to respond to that much naked disapproval? From the _both_ of them. Karen huffed in disbelief. “Jesus, Foggy!”

“What was I supposed to do? He almost died a couple days ago!”

Christopher was clearly furious. His ineffectual rage would be funny in other circumstances. And why did he even care, this was nothing to do with him. “He’s playing you.”

“What? He’s not. Claire said--”

Karen cut in. “Claire? _His_ friend, the nurse?”

“Damnit. It’s not like that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why didn’t you just take him to the hospital.”

“I..” Why didn’t they? “That didn’t occur to me.”  
He didn't know what else to say. He had very little faith left in Matt, but he wasn't playing him. Not about this. Claire certainly wasn’t. Were they really so used to putting up with Matt’s ridiculous no-hospital rule that taking him just never came up?

He tried to avoid the pity in the way Christopher looked at him. Karen glared in disappointment. She was still hurt and angry enough to expect anything from Matt. Why wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really unsure about this chapter. It's a mess of a situation and Foggy reactions are not ideal. Things will start getting better from this point, though.


End file.
